


I (Should Have) Loved You More

by JHarkness



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Animal Death, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 18:16:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15563634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JHarkness/pseuds/JHarkness
Summary: Kozick finds the dog, but Tig’s the one who lures her out from behind the abandoned trailer at the edge of the lot with some scraps of meat and little cooing noises that Kozick didn’t think he was capable of making. Ready to give up when they’ve been there for three hours, Kozick grabs Tig’s shoulder and murmurs, “Hey, I think we’ve got to let her go.”“No, absolutely not.” Tig grabs Kozick’s hand and Kozick freezes. Sliding his hand up to Kozick’s wrist, Tig flips his palm up and puts a piece of meat in it. “Just…” His voice is soft, almost pleading. “Help me out here.”Kozick swallows. “Okay.”





	I (Should Have) Loved You More

**Author's Note:**

> I started watching SOA one day because I was bored, and I wish I hadn't, because it's fucking taking over my life. Anyway, I'm deeply in love with Kozick as a character, and I have been shipping him and Tig since "Tiggy"/"You want a kiss?" Then the fucking! Missy thing was revealed! And I lost my shit?? If Sutter wasn't a coward we would have gotten something like this. So I wrote it for him. This is my version of what happened before canon.

Kozick and Tig meet in the Marine Corps. Kozick introduces himself as Herman and Tig introduces himself as Alexander, and they don’t see much of one another until after service. By then Tig doesn’t even use Alexander anymore--it’s Tig or Trager, and that’s what Lee uses when he calls Kozick two weeks after he’s been discharged.

“Hey, you still looking for a place in Oregon?”

“Yeah,” Kozick answers, “Why?”

“This guy Tig Trager, he served, too. He’s fresh out like you. Looking for a place. Neither of you can afford a place on your own.”

“Ain’t that the fucking truth.” Kozick’s in a hotel, has been since he landed in Seattle, and using a bottle to chase away the craving for a needle. He kicked that habit but it likes to sneak in sometimes, especially when he’s lost in fucking Washington state, no uniform to go back to, no brotherhood. No family. He’s got relatives in Oregon but no one willing to take him in after what he put them through. It’s not like he can blame them.

“He’s moving couch to couch. Well,” Lee laughs, like it’s some inside joke. “More like pussy to pussy. Guy needs somewhere to sleep more than a night.”

Kozick sighs. He’s done his time couchsurfing--sans pussy, of course. “I’ll meet him.”

“I’ll set it up.”

“Herman, right?” Tig asks when they meet face-to-face.

“Call me Kozick,” he corrects, and smiles. Tig is 6’2”, curly-haired, built. Kozick tries not to stare. They shake hands and Kozick tries not to linger.

“Sure.”

They find a trailer in Josephine County. The lot itself is three miles out of town, and the road its on--well, even calling it a back road is generous. But: “I’ve got to be near California, man,” Tig tells Kozick, and Kozick can’t argue with that. He swears if either of them can afford the gas in their bikes, they’ll drive down the coast until the road ends.

They get to know each other fast. There’s not a lot of room in the trailer, and Tig doesn’t mind an audience. At night Kozick just tries to stay out of his way. During the day, though, he dares to want a little bit more; Kozick keeps the fridge stocked with beers and keeps Tig loose, and soon enough they know each other’s families and secrets and fears. Kozick hasn’t felt this close to his own brother.

“I love you, man,” Tig tells him one night. “You’re my brother.” He leans his forehead against Kozick’s and smiles. “I love you.”

Kozick ignores how tight that makes his chest. “I love you, too.”

Kozick finds the dog, but Tig’s the one who lures her out from behind the abandoned trailer at the edge of the lot with some scraps of meat and little cooing noises that Kozick didn’t think he was capable of making. Ready to give up when they’ve been there for three hours, Kozick grabs Tig’s shoulder and murmurs, “Hey, I think we’ve got to let her go.”

“No, absolutely not.” Tig grabs Kozick’s hand and Kozick freezes. Sliding his hand up to Kozick’s wrist, Tig flips his palm up and puts a piece of meat in it. “Just…” His voice is soft, almost pleading. “Help me out here.”

Kozick swallows. “Okay.”

They name her Missy. She’s strong; however many weeks or months of malnourishment haven’t diminished her spirit, and she fights hard back to health. Kozick and Tig spend nearly every dollar they have on vet bills and food. “She eats like a fucking horse,” Tig says when he brings another 50-pound bag of food home.

“Hey, you waited for her.” Kozick can’t believe how close Tig and Missy are sometimes. She follows him everywhere, listens to his every word. She’s more his kid than a pet.

“Hey, you found her,” Tig shoots back. He’s cuddling with Missy on their couch, fingers scratching behind her ears. Her head’s up to his chest. And yeah, Kozick loves her, she’s easily the best dog he’s ever had and damn near a daughter to him, but it’s Tig who’s making him smile like an idiot. Tig stares at Missy and rubs her face a few times. “Who’s my best girl? Who’s my best girl?” Missy gives a little whine in response.

Kozick takes out his camera. When he gets the photo developed, he sticks it to the fridge with a dollar-store magnet like it isn’t the most precious thing he owns. It doesn’t stay there for long; Tig puts it in his wallet and carries it everywhere. Kozick is fine with that. He gets to see the real thing every single day.

When their one-year anniversary at the trailer arrives, they buy three party hats--one for Missy, of course--and splurge on cake and top-shelf liquor. It’s ridiculous; they don’t even know how they’re going to pay rent for the next year, but Kozick’s warm and content. They’re drunk after… Kozick’s not sure anymore how many shots, but enough. Enough that he’s touching Tig more than he’s ever allowed himself. A hand on his knee, an ankle against his calf. It’s 2 AM and they both have to go to work in four hours. Kozick says as much and stands, pats Missy on the head, and then grabs one more shot. Tig raises an eyebrow. Steeling himself, Kozick reaches out his hand. “Bedtime.”

Tig nods. He accepts the hand Kozick is still holding out to him, but when he tries to let go, Kozick doesn’t. Tig is as drunk as Kozick--if not more so--but his face screws up and he tugs his hand away. Kozick takes his hand back and swipes it through his hair. Tig’s face is flushed red. His eyes are half-lidded and bright with rage, and his lip curls in a snarl. There’s a growl in his voice when he says, “I’m not a fucking faggot.”

“Alright.” Kozick doesn’t take his eyes off Tig. Licking his lips, he slides his jacket off and folds it over the chair. “What’s your opinion on  _ fucking  _ faggots?”

Decidedly more positive, Kozick finds out.

Tig won’t kiss him. He fucks him hard, pressing his face into the mattress, and leaves the room for a cigarette after he’s done with Kozick. Kozick has no illusions that Tig will come back to bed, and isn’t disappointed when he doesn’t.

The next day, Tig brings two women back to the trailer, locks himself in the room with them, and fucks them loudly enough Kozik worries they’re going to get a noise complaint. They don’t, and Kozick walks the girls out to wait for a taxi when Tig’s done with them. It takes all of ten minutes for Tig to stumble into Kozick’s room.

“I swear I don’t know what to do with myself around you.”

“Just ride, baby.”

Tig shakes his head. “Don’t call me that.”

“Okay… Tiggy.”

That earns Kozick a smile and then some.

Year two comes around, and then year three. By year four they sell one of the beds. Tig takes to burying his face in Kozick’s neck when they’re in the trailer, but will only stand so they’re pressed side-to-side in public. He’s two different people in their world and the other. The first time they fuck face-to-face, Tig won’t look at Kozick the rest of the day. It’s almost worth it; Kozick’s never come so hard in his life.

Kozick gets tired of it sometimes. The lies Tig tells himself, the days when he’s so disgusted with himself he won’t speak to Kozick, just shoves him around or avoids him--Kozick used to let it go. But they fight sometimes, too often with fists.

“I’ll leave,” Kozick threatens. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming, and it hurts, but not as much as the black eye coming in on Tig’s face courtesy of Kozick’s knuckles.

Tig is under him, breathing hard and regretting the right hook he threw a minute ago. Kozick grips Tig’s shirt and lets out a ragged sigh. Missy barks from the couch.

“I don’t want this,” Tig says softly, and Kozick tries not to shatter.

“Okay.” He swallows and loosens his grip on Tig. He repeats “okay” over and over, not sure what else to do. But Tig grabs his neck and for a second he thinks he’s going to have to crack a few ribs.

“No.” Tig’s touch softens. He moves his hand to Kozick’s jaw, and then cups his cheek, eyes wide like he can’t believe himself. “I mean I don’t want to fight. This. You, goddamn--” He swipes his thumb across Kozick’s bloody lip--“ _ bleeding  _ cause of me. I don’t want that. I want… I want to figure it out.”

“How do you do that?” Kozick asks. He wants to believe Tig so much.

“I don’t know.” Tig props himself up on one elbow. “But I’ll try. Anything,” he adds genuinely.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I’m not.”

Kozick helps him up. They apologize to Missy by taking her on a walk and then throwing a ball around for a while. It’s nearly dark when they get back, so they make dinner and settle down in the living room to watch a movie.

“We could get out of here,” Tig suggests.

Kozick snorts. “With what money?”

Tig takes a swig of his beer. “We could join the Sons, you know.”

“Because  _ that  _ would make you more comfortable being with me.”

Tig wrinkles his nose. He always does it when Kozick even vaguely implies they are in a relationship, but this time, he also notices and relaxes his face. “Sorry,” he mumbles. Kozick grins. He chews his lip, pulls the popcorn bowl to his lap, and thinks.

“Well. Lee’s charter is in Tacoma. We could head up there.”

“And he’d be cool with…”

“I don’t know, honestly. But at least he knows us.”

Tig throws one arm around Kozick, one around Missy. “I like California more. You know Clay Morrow?”

Kozick makes a vague sound of recognition, snuggling down into Tig’s chest. He tosses some popcorn into his mouth. Chewing, he adds, “I don’t need to go. What’s wrong with just… riding?” Kozick doesn’t add that he’s tired of orders, and death, too, but hopes Tig gets it anyway.

“What, you’re saying I got everything I need here? My piece of shit trailer--” He bangs his hand on the wall behind the couch and Kozick laughs, “My girl--” He pats Missy’s side a few times, “and my ma--” He stops, staring down at Kozick. Kozick hold’s Tig’s gaze, his lips parted.

“Say it. Your  _ man _ , Tig. Say it.”

Tig grinds his teeth together and then takes a deep breath. He grabs Kozick’s chin, pulls their faces close. “And you,” he says, and kisses Kozick.

Kozick barely has time to return the popcorn to the table before he’s pulling Tig closer, meunevering until Tig’s on top of him, hooking his leg over the back of Tig’s thigh. The kiss is messy. It’s teeth and tongue and losing breath, and Kozick’s hard from the feeling of Tig’s mouth on his alone.

Tig takes a moment to shoo Missy away before he’s back on Kozick, hands singularly focused on moving Kozick’s pants low enough to get what he wants. He holds Kozick down with one hand and uses the other to palm Kozick’s cock before wrapping his entire hand around it and jacking him off quick and dirty. They kiss the entire time and Kozick does his best not to whine like he’s in a porno, but Tig’s mouth and hand are a heady mixture, and he’s keening loudly by the time he spills into Tig’s hand.

Kozick nuzzles at Tig’s neck, bites his earlobe. He slides his thigh between Tig’s legs and smiles when Tig moans into his mouth. Tig ends up coming from that alone, and Kozick laughs. “What are you, twelve?”

“Blow me, bitch,” Tig bites back.

Cocking his head, Kozick grabs Tig’s shoulders and rolls him so they both fall on the floor. Tig grunts loudly when his back hits the carpet, and Kozick grins. He pins Tig down by straddling him. “Give yourself an hour.”

“That hurt, you know,” Tig says, rolling his eyes. He shakes his head. “You’re a fucking beast. Are you hard already?”

“Nah, you’re just not that hot.”

“Fuck you.”

“Trying to get there, baby.” Kozick rolls his hips and waits for Tig to say something about the moniker. He just pulls Kozick down for another kiss.

The angle’s a little uncomfortable, but Kozick leans down anyway, taking Tig’s face in his hands so he can hold him close. It hurts his neck but he doesn’t care. He takes his time, correcting all the things he’d assumed kissing Tig would be like. It’s not rough. Tig likes long, deep, lazy kisses, and will give as good as he gets. 

Kozick pulls back for breath so of course Missy comes over and starts licking Tig’s face. They both start cackling--full-bodied, can’t-breathe laughs--, and Missy looks confused before she starts barking happily, skipping a little in place. Kozick scrubs his hands over his face and sighs, trying to compose himself, but Tig keeps laughing when Missy demands more attention. Kozick uses the table and couch to haul himself up.

“I’m gonna go clean up,” he tells Tig, who gives him a thumbs-up from the floor.

“I’ll call Jack,” Tig responds, and Kozick starts to ask why they would need to call their boss when Tig finishes, “because we’re both taking off tomorrow.”

Neither of them has ever taken a sick day--overtime pay is better than whining about a cold--so it’s easy to convince Jack to give them some time off. They spend the two days they take learning to love each other better. Tig knows that’s mostly on him and starts with the little things: he throws his arm around Kozick when they walk Missy, or when they go to the store; he lets Kozick ride on his bike with him; he kisses Kozick back even if they aren’t fucking.

“I want to be the person who can hold your hand in public, you know,” he tells Kozick.

Tig isn’t that person yet, but Kozick is willing to stick around while he gets there. But he doesn’t get the chance.

They come home from work about five months later, and everything’s normal until Kozick puts his keys on the table and realizes Missy isn’t in the room. “Missy?”

Tig, who immediately sank into the couch when they got home, is up in an instant. His eyes are wide with panic.

“I’ll check outside,” Kozick offers, because she’s a smart dog, and she’s been trying to find her way out to fight the raccoons for months now. But he’s barely made it out the door when Tig screams for him, his voice breaking. Kozick, his blood cold, sprints inside; Tig is holding Missy, panting and whining on their bedroom floor, to his chest. The borrow a neighbor’s car to get to the the vet--and they’re lucky not to get pulled over once, with the way Kozick drives. Tig carries Missy in himself.

They sit in the lobby and wait. An hour passes, then two. Tig holds Kozick’s hand tight even when the veterinarian comes over to tell them they’re keeping Missy overnight. Kozick squeezes Tig’s hand and nods his way through the conversation that follows. The visit alone costs more than they have--the diagnosis is worse. The ride home is silent, and Tig cries the entire night.

When Kozick wakes up in the middle of the night, his eyes feel bruised and heavy. Tig is already awake. He sits on the edge of the bed, hands pressed together over his mouth and nose, and Kozick rolls so he can slide his hand down Tig’s spine. Tig leans back so he can lay his head against Kozick’s stomach.

Kozick falls back asleep brushing his fingers through Tig’s hair. When the sun finally comes through the windows, he gets up for the morning. They both go to work and wait for the call. Jack lends them his truck to go get Missy during their lunch break.

They can’t afford the medication or surgery, but it wouldn’t help in the long-term anyway. She’s got fluid in her lungs and it’s only going to get worse. Kozick agrees when the vet tech says they should say their goodbyes and let her go. Tig almost snaps.

“What the hell did you just say?” he shouts. The tech flinches away, and people in the lobby turn and stare. Kozick puts his hand on Tig’s chest and holds him back.

“Look, we’ll… We’ll take her home and talk about it,” Kozick tells the tech, and she’s more than happy to go get the paperwork.

“Like hell we will,” Tig mutters.

Tig ignores Kozick and pampers Missy all night. She seems fine, but Kozick knows it won’t last; and worst of all, he knows she’s in pain. It takes him three weeks to decide the pain he’ll cause Tig is worse, and then a week more to change his mind. After a particularly rough night, Kozick takes the day off and stays with Missy. Tig has to go in--he’s taken too many days already.

While Tig’s gone, Kozick takes Missy to the vet. He sits next to her the whole time, talking and crying and petting her head. When it’s done he just sits for half an hour, numb. The neighbor who drove him there helps him get Missy’s body back into the car, drives back to the lot, and stays with Kozick until he’s settled on a spot. And then Kozick calls Tig.

“Is everything okay?” Tig answers.

Kozick pushes out a shaky breath, his stomach in knots, and then answers, “No.” Biting his tongue, he clutches his cellphone hard enough to snap it in half. “No, it’s not. Come home. Please.”

He’s there too fast. Kozick doesn’t know what to do with himself. He wants Tig to hold him, he wants to breathe Tig in. But Tig just falls to his knees next to Missy’s body and looks up at Kozick.

“What happened?”

Kozick grits his teeth. He promised himself a long time ago not to lie to Tig, but it spills out of him, “She came and got me, and I sat down next to her, and--and.” He waves his hand towards her, and then lets it fall to his side.

“I wanted to be here.” His voice is hollow, quiet.

Kozick shakes his head. “I’m glad you weren’t.”

They bury her by the river, her favorite spot in the park. Like the day they found her, Tig won’t leave the grave for hours, and it’s dark by the time Kozick drags him inside. Tig sleeps on the couch, Kozick doesn’t sleep at all; his stomach is a pit of guilt, and he stares at the ceiling listening to the night until the rain starts and finally lulls him to sleep.

They both go to work even though Jack tries to send them home. “This isn’t something I think you’re being a pussy about,” Jack tells them. “Missy was like a kid to you two, not just a dog. We’re good here if you need some time.”

“I can’t be in that trailer, man.” Tig shakes his head and goes to punch in.

Jack grabs Kozick’s shoulder as he starts to follow. “Hey, he got a lady he can go see or something? Get his mind off it.”

Kozick forces a smile. “Or something. He’s got  _ ladies  _ all up and down the coast, Jack. He could go out tonight and get another one. That’s… just not what he wants right now.”

“Alright.” Jack sighs. “And y’all are good?”

“This is the West Coast, Jack, stop saying ‘y’all.’ Please.” Kozick clasps Jack on the shoulder and laughs.

“Whatever, surfer boy.” But he laughs, too, and Kozick appreciates the guiltless moment. He also appreciates that Jack lets him walk away without actually answering the question, and doesn’t bring it up again.

Jack isn’t the only one. Tig won’t talk about it. Kozick hates it but doesn’t push the subject, and after a week, Tig pulls over on their drive home, gets off his bike once Kozick stops next to him, grabs Kozick’s face, and pulls him in for a kiss. Kozick curls his hands against Tig’s ribs and smiles into it. When Tig breaks away, his thumbs stay on Kozick’s jaw, holding his head back while Kozick looks up at him.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you. You’ve done everything for me these past couple of months, and I haven’t stepped up. I just need you to know how much I appreciate that. And that I’m sorry.”

Kozick smooths his hand over Tig’s jacket. “I know you do. And I know you are. And you love me.”

It isn’t a question, but Tig answers anyway, “So much.”

Kozick taps his knuckle against Tig’s chin and chuckles. “Then that’s all I need.”

Tig’s hands are on Kozick as soon as they’re through the door, and Kozick doesn’t need any more convincing than that. They stay in bed the rest of the night.

When their alarm goes off at 6 AM, Kozick rolls over into Tig’s chest and groans. He blindly reaches across Tig to turn it off, knocking a lot of random shit off the nightstand in the process, and grunts deeply. He opens his eyes to find it before he causes any more damage and smiles when the date in the corner blinks back at him.

“Hey,” he says, crawling up Tig’s chest. He kisses him gently on the cheek, nose, and then mouth. “Happy five years.”

It takes Tig’s brain a little while to catch up. He sighs contentedly against Kozick’s lips and then opens his eyes. “Hm?”

“Fifth year here,” Kozick explains, waving at the clock. “Five years, six hours, and… 3 minutes.”

“Don’t get all sentimental and shit.” Tig’s voice is gruff, but Kozick catches the start of a smile and chases it. He kisses Tig’s mouth and then everything below it.

Life doesn’t go back to normal after that--it can’t, because more has changed than just Missy dying. Tig’s not going to hold Kozick’s hand but he stops pretending he’s even remotely interested in the women at the parties they go to. They stop correcting the neighbors who assume they’re a couple. Kozick wishes more of them made that assumption.

Kozick pulls up to the trailer and whips his helmet off before he even notices the shiny red Ford sitting one trailer over. He gets off his bike, and then walks over to admire it. It’s full of boxes and random household items that he assumes belong to his new neighbor.

“Can I help you?” A woman’s voice sounds from the door. Kozick waves.

“I was just looking at your pick-up. It’s nice.”

The woman--all legs, covered in cut-off jeans and a tank top--makes her way down to the Ford and smiles brilliantly. As she gets closer, Kozick realizes she’s much more a girl than a woman; her face is still round in a youthful way, and he figures she must have recently turned 18.

“Thanks. It was a present.”

Kozick nods. The girl leans against the pick-up, right between the door and Kozick, and licks her lips. “So I guess you’re my neighbor?”

Scratching his head, Kozick offers a friendly smile that he hopes doesn’t get interpreted as the wrong kind of friendly and replies, “Seems that way.”

“Hell, if I’d have known I was moving in next to a California babe, I would have kept my surfboard,” she says, flipping her hair behind her shoulder. 

“Don’t do a lot of that around here.” He points to his bike. “I’d rather ride that than some waves.”

She looks him up and down like she’s thinking of other things to ride. “Uh-huh.” Kozick hears gum pop and decides it’s time to make an exit.

“Uh, good to meet you,” he says quickly, and turns.

“Don’t be a stranger, Cali,” she calls after him.

Kozick grimaces as he unlocks the door. But he knows Tig will find it endlessly funny, so he starts, “I just got called a ‘California babe’ by the new girl next door, think I’ve got a chance?” as soon as he gets in the trailer. He’s bone tired and now in desperate need of a lazy fuck. Stretching, he groans and feels his neck and shoulders pop in rapid succession. He pulls his hands down to rub his sore muscles when he notices Tig holding a piece of paper. His eyes are empty, unseeing, even though he’s staring hard enough at the thing to bore through it.

“What is that?”

Tig wipes under his eyes with his thumb, moves his tongue to the corner of his mouth, and gives a short, hollow laugh. Kozick’s body goes cold. Laying his keys down, he steps slowly over to the table where Tig is sitting, hands up in surrender. Tig holds the paper out accusingly.

“You killed her.”

Kozick puts his hands down. The vet bill. He didn’t even consider Tig being home when it arrived. He takes a deep breath and murmurs calmly, “She was suffering--and so were you, and I just couldn’t watch that happen, baby--”

“Don’t call me that!” Tig stands and swings--hard--and Kozick doesn’t even try to stop him. They go crashing to the floor together. The entire trailer rattles as Tig holds Kozick down and throws sloppy, frenzied punches. Kozick lets him go a lot longer than he should; by the time he hits back, he already has blood in his mouth and streaming from his nose, and the adrenaline isn’t enough to let him ignore his broken ribs. 

He manages to get his legs under Tig and kicks him in the stomach. He goes flying into the couch, but it doesn’t keep him down. Tig lunges. Kozick’s back hits the door and they fall fully out of the trailer into the dirt and grass. It knocks the wind out of Kozick, but Tig’s not letting up, and he won’t, either. He socks Tig square in the jaw and scrambles away.

“Stop!” he yells when he’s put a few feet between them. Desperately sucking in breaths, he holds his hand out, palm forward. When Kozick is sure Tig is done, he collapses on his knee, chin tucked into his chest, and uses both his hands to put pressure on his broken ribs.

The same girl from earlier drops the box she had been holding and covers her mouth. Kozick can tell she wants to scream. Her eyes are wide, and she looks between Kozick and Tig while she blindly reaches in her purse for her phone.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Kozick insists. “We’re… friends.”

“Like hell we are.” Tig spits.

She looks harried but puts her phone away. “Do you… I’m going to get some ice or something.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Kozick presses, so she swallows, nods, and starts to pick up the contents of the box. Tig is still fuming on the ground, and Kozick leans his head back and sighs. “I’m going inside.” It takes all of his effort to get up; his muscles scream each step of the way, but eventually he gets to the bathroom and starts assessing the damage. It’s not quite as extensive as he thought, but it’s still bad. Treating everything would be easier with an extra set of hands, but…

He finds Tig where he first did, sitting at the kitchen table. This time he’s got a bag of frozen corn against his jaw. He pushes the bill toward Kozick, sucks his teeth. “Pay this, and then get out.”

Kozick’s knees go weak. He takes a careful step toward the table and sits. “Listen--”

Tig hums and tips his head to the side. He’s still staring at the bill. Kozick reaches for it, just to put it somewhere out of Tig’s view, but Tig’s gaze stays on the same spot even after the paper is folded and tucked into Kozick’s pocket.

“Just look at me.”

Tig does. Purple and blue are blossoming up to his eye, and stupidly, Kozick thinks it’s beautiful; Tig always looks wild after a fight, alive. It’s like his natural state. Kozick loves taking care of him after. Loves kissing the scars that get left. And all he wants to do is press his fingertips to that bruise, trace it until Tig relaxes and opens his mouth and is so full of want instead of pain that Kozick can kiss him until he’s breathless. Instead, he just says above the roar of the blood rushing in his ears, “I love you.”

Tig cocks his head. “See, I used to think so.”

And that--that hurts more than his ribs. Kozick lets out a breathless gasp of pain and then swallows it. He curls his lip and asks, “How can you even say that?”

“Are you serious?” Tig leans his shoulders forward and slams his palms down on the table.

“I did it for you! For both of you! Because I love you, and I loved her, and she was in so much pain, Tig. It wasn’t right, what you were doing to her.”

“So your solution was to kill her? Bullshit, man, you didn’t love her if you think that.”

“Of course I loved her. What the fuck is your problem!” Kozick tightens his jaw and his fists and lowers his voice. “I can’t--I can’t do this. Right now.”

“I can’t do any of this.” Kozick raises his eyebrows in confusion, so Tig points to the phone. “Call Lee or I will.”

“What?”

“I already called SAMCRO. I’m leaving as soon as the lease is up. I want you gone.”

Kozick is so shocked he replies, “Don’t treat me like I’m one of your girls, Tig.”

“At least those girls never tried to make me into something I'm not.”

Kozick hangs his head. His neck is hot, chest tight, and he tries to fight that, call it for the bullshit it is, but for the first time, he’s not sure if he’s right. He inhales. “I’ll--I’ll call him.”

Tig stays in the room while Kozick calls Lee from their landline. Lee picks up almost immediately, and Kozick can damn near  _ see  _ him smiling on the other side of the phone. “Yes! What took you so long? Dude, you’ll be a perfect fit for the club. I’m going to need a new Sergeant at Arms. Are you bringing Tig?”

Kozick looks the man he loves dead in the eye and says, “No.”

It’s the longest night of Kozick’s life.

He wakes up cold and alone, missing Tig’s arms around him, and packs his shit. Jeans, shirts, his toothbrush. He takes one of Tig’s shirts, a striped flannel that he bought last February, and pulls it on before zipping his jacket over it. Kozick’s quiet so he doesn’t wake Tig, and he’s out the door before 6 AM.

Once his bag is secure on his bike, Kozick calls Lee again. “I’m headed up,” he tells him, his voice still gravely. It’s the first time he’s spoken all morning.

“See you in a bit, man!” Lee is a ray of fucking sunshine, and it makes Kozick angry. He knows it’s unfair and takes a deep breath to calm down.

“Yup,” is all he manages to say, and then he snaps the phone shut and shoves it in his pocket. Kozick hears the door creak as he’s clipping his helmet and glances over. Tig leans in the doorway, arms crossed, and looks at him.

“I wanted to fuck you the first time I saw you ride up on that bike,” Tig tells Kozick. His voice is flat, though. Resigned.

“Don’t.” Kozick’s bike roars to life and he shakes his head. “I don’t need to hear this.”

“Yeah, you do.” Tig walks to Kozick’s bike. The bruise on his jaw still hasn’t gone away, but it looks less angry than Kozick’s knuckles, which feel tight beneath his gloves. “Because I want you to understand that some things are unforgivable. What  _ you  _ did to  _ me _ \--to Missy? That’s some unforgivable shit. I thought that loving you was. I thought that wanting you the way I did was the worst thing I could do, and being with you made  _ me  _ an unforgivable person. And I got over that. For you. You remember what I said to you? After that first night?”

Of course he remembers. “ ‘ I swear I don’t know what to do with myself around you.’”

Tig taps Kozick’s bike. His voice doesn’t even break when he orders, voice low and even, “Just ride.”


End file.
